Lightning in a Bottle
by Lauralye
Summary: How long does it take to go crazy? When does pain become to much? How long will it take you to learn that hope is the cruelest thing of all?


Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men (or any of the rest of the X-people, though given the choice, I'd be content to own just the x-men, contrary to the fact that I love writing about pretty much everybody) *sigh* they all belong to Marvel, Stan Lee, and I 

Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men (or any of the rest of the X-people, though given the choice, I'd be content to own just the x-_men_, contrary to the fact that I love writing about pretty much everybody) *sigh* they all belong to Marvel, Stan Lee, and I think Bryan Singer is next in line for any other tid-bits and table scraps from that plate of the genius industry. It's horrible, nothing ever goes my way, so it looks like I'm stuck writing fan fiction for the next hundred years. Woe is me.

Author's Note: One less sticky on my computer! All right, chalk one up for the over worked fan fic writers! (To those of you who haven't read anything of mine before, perhaps I'd better explain. Whenever evil plot-bunnies, my muse, or in some cases ordinary life attack me, I scribble down the story line, sentence, saying, or idea on any available surface. i.e; my hand, my book bag, my folders, my leg, etc. Then, once I reach home it is transferred to a sticky or scrap of paper destined to reside on the side of my computer or in my insanity box next to my computer, until such time as it can be written on virtual paper. My poor computer looks like it's about to sprout wings.) Any way, I'm writing this in a desperate attempt to get over problems with another story of mine, 'The Irony of it All', to clear out a rather annoying plot-bunny and to gain a little bit more sleep at night. Let's see if it works hmm?

"Lightning in a Bottle"

There was no light in my first cell. Here's there's too much light. Sometimes it's so bright I think I'll go blind. There was a reason for the abrupt transition, but it's been so long now I don't think it matters. Even so, you need to know about it. You need to know about everything. That way you understand, that way, I can hope you forgive me. Forgive me for everything, for not being strong enough to protect our dream, and most of all, for not being brave enough to wait and try again. You need to know everything, most of all, while I tell this, remember I'm sorry.

Where was I? Oh yes, the transition from that Hell to this one. In my first cell, there was no light, only one dingy orange light bulb that flickered from time to time. No windows, no breezes, not anything. Just me in one little room and the only sounds I heard were those I remembered in my head. Sounds of birds and wind and home. That was how I passed the time I spent there. That was the first time I'd ever thought to myself that nothing could ever get any worse. It was also the first time I was proven wrong. The first of too many times.

I spent all day in my little corner of Hell, dreaming, remembering, and hoping. It's ironic, out of everything, what I hate the most, was that the one thing I had always believed in, the one light that burned even in my ebony Hell turned out to be the cruelest most hateful thing of all. Hope is wonderful thing when you're free to believe in it. I don't anymore. There's nothing worse than having hope when you're confined to Hell.

Every single solitary day I had a tray brought to me. A routine I grew to hate. Three different meals were rotated throughout the week. I still don't know what they were intended to be, but whatever they were, they weren't food. These were always delivered to me by a woman. A female guard who hated more than anything in the world. We'd never spoken.

The lack of communication grew to suit me, the less I spoke, the less I was noticed. It gave me time to dream, to plan, and to hope. That twisted cruel mocking hope that's broken my heart more times than I can count over this past year. (At least I think it was a year, on one of my daily excursions to torture I spied the date once on a sheet of scrap paper on a lab desk. Or what I assumed was the current date, I've never really known, but that's when and did the math from the loss to now and that's where I began keeping track, it gave me something to do.) But before I knew the date I was still in the first cell, thinking that nothing could ever be worse. Then came along Janey, the girl who'd become the center of my faith in hope. The one girl who'd also become the reason behind the most horrible thing in my life. Even now, in this fresh Hell, nothing compares.

Janey Silasmon. A nine-year-old baby girl, who received her powers early in life, and in doing so, learned early on the meanings of hate and pain. So much pain, too much and much to soon for any baby that age. So young that she could barely be persuaded to open her eyes, lest she make bad things happen again. _" 'Cause she was a bad little girl and baby Jesus hated her." _After she said that the second time I began to hate her baby Jesus. I learned how to hate very quickly and with surprising ease when they placed that little girl in my corner of Hell with me. I've never known why they did, but I think it was to give me something to love, so that ultimately I'd be in pain again. And I fell for it. How could I not? I loved that baby girl more than anything I'd ever known. I still do. Why shouldn't I? I've never had a child; I was always far to busy 'saving the world', as Logan loved to say. Oh how I loved that baby girl. She was the daughter I never got to have. The daughter I never will have. Which was fine with her, she never knew the woman who bore her, she was raised in a Catholic orphanage, and when her powers manifested (I'm sorry Professor, I can no longer bring myself to call them gifts.) she was beaten and thrown out. " _'Cause she was a bad little girl and baby Jesus hated her'" _I've hated so many people on her behalf. I hate people I've never met. It's one of the ironies; I remember telling Rogue once that to hate those who hate you accomplishes nothing. If you must feel something that strongly for them, give your pity, for those that hate are ignorant. I remember telling Logan that the choosing of sides actually means something. I feel compelled to apologize to the both of them, any emotion is a valid one, especially hate, simply because sometimes feeling anything less makes you less than decent. I know that now.

Janey. My baby girl was thrown in the cell with me because they thought the effect of living in my presence would hold to similar effects. Less noise, and no crying at night. It seemed there was a night guard it annoyed. She was so tiny; shaking like the very earth was going to hurt her. Which was part of her power. I'll never know the complete extent of them, but my nearest guess is that she was what I am now calling a geological telekinetic. When she exercised her power she literally moved the earth. I grew to calling her earth-angel rather quickly. She was so scared, afraid that I wold hurt her like everyone else had. It took me two days just to get her to tell me her name. She never had anyone to love, and when I finally persuaded her to open her eyes, I lost my heart. I've never seen such eyes. So lost and young, afraid to breathe the wrong way, from then on she was mine, and when we were alone, (most of the day, save when meals came) we talked softly, and more than anything I wanted to make her laugh, because when she did, she wasn't in pain, and her ever-green eyes that had a blue ring around the pupil would lose a little of that wariness, and she looked happy. 

I miss her so much. 

I especially miss the warmth of her next to me at night, the feathering of her dark brown curls that fanned out across my throat, and most of all, the sound of her breath as she slept, without her nightmares and monsters coming to haunt her. She trusted me, and that has been the greatest joy in my life. Or maybe it was the day she asked if she could call me Mommy. I'm not sure, but whatever that moment is, be sure it's safely wrapped up in her.

Life grew a new routine. We practiced being quiet when the guard came, and learned how to talk softly when we thought no one was there, because in Hell you're never alone. I told her stories, of Africa, of the school, before I failed it, and what it was to be one of the X-Men (or, in memory of Jubilee, let me say X-person) She loved the stories about home, and was completely in awe of family, the one that we were all a part of. I promised her that. 

I wish to the Goddess now that I hadn't.

__

" **Mommy?** What is it little earth-angel? **Tell me again about our family. **Well, our family is a group of very special people. **With gifts like us?** That's right Janey, they have gifts like we do; only their gifts are different from ours. **That's right Mommy, I remember, Grandfather Xavier has telepathny- **Telepathy Janey telepathy**, that's right, and Aunt Jean too, plus she has telekin-telekin…Telekinesis?** That's right earth-angel, telekinesis. **Uh-huh, and Uncle Scott he has laser eyes, Aunt Rogue has absorption? **That's right. **Aunt Rogue has absorption touch, and Uncle Logan has healing powers, really long claws, and his entire skeleton has metal over it. Mommy?** Yes sweetie? **Does that mean Uncle Logan is hardheaded?** Undoubtedly dear-heart undoubtedly." 

I gave you all the titles of my brothers and sisters, and the professor has always been my father. If any of you never knew that I'm sorry you're only learning it now. You were my family, the only family that ever counted for anything. I didn't think you'd mind if I shared you with my daughter. I still don't. Keep reminding yourselves as you read this not ever to hate my little earth-angel. Nothing that happened to me is any of her fault. I allowed it because of her, but it was never her fault. 

I've gotten off track again haven't I? As I was saying, life grew a new routine. Janey grew quiet at night, and for a time we were safe because we made our jailers happy. There was no noise at night and it was soon understood that we were the model prisoners, not the troublemakers that occupied the guards' minds and we certainly the type of mutants that made them so afraid that they couldn't meet our eyes. After all, as long as Janey was with me (all the time) she was calm, and that kept any incidents from occurring, and as for me, well I could only summon small gust of wind, what harm could I do them? God they were stupid. Or maybe it was arrogance that kept them from realizing what a child should have known. Nothing had changed, I was still planning and keeping my powers hidden, only now the only difference was that I was planning for two. 

Then we were transferred. 

Oh not to here, this part of Hell came later, as you may have surmised I came made this last leg of the journey alone. We were both put into a less harsh chamber of imprisonment. Nothing was different save the scenery (we were considered lucky, as we were some of the privileged few that had a window in our cell. If you want to call it that, it was a 2x1 rectangle that was cut into the wall ten feet high.)

Of course along with the new cell, we had a new guard. A new _male_ guard. Willis K. Jensen. Not exactly the type of name you'd think anyone would ever come to fear under any circumstances right? Think again. I've never hated or (though it shames me to admit it), feared any name more. 

Rape tends to do that to a person. 

Promise me not to cry to long Jean, please, but cry for me nonetheless. I can't anymore, crying is simply beyond me now, I've lost the ability, or maybe it's the emotion behind it that I've lost. And something tells me that's the saddest thing of all. 

At first I didn't notice the looks he sent my way when we moved. I was to busy adjusting my plans, and then later I began to ignore them. There was nothing he could do to me, even if he had some plan rolling through his head. I was never alone, and if I ever was, I was more than a match for him. He didn't worry me. 

Depravity and desperation are dangerous elements, and almost as painful as love and devotion. 

He used her to get to me. That evil, vile, sickening bastard used my baby girl to get to me. Or maybe I had better say, to get me to cooperate. I thought I knew evil. I thought that facing it as an opponent let me know it's face, and yet nothing we ever fought against has ever compared to this. Nothing ever will. It can't. You see he knew, he knew who I was and what I was capable of and he didn't tell anyone. He knew exactly what he was doing and how to get what he wanted, and he did. 

Over and over again.

He knew if he tried when we were alone, he'd die. So he made sure we were never alone. He used Janey to ensure my subservience, and when he raped me, he knew I wouldn't do anything, for fear of hurting her. How much power could I have summoned? More than enough to kill him, but how much backlash would it have taken to kill Janey? Not much. Not much at all, and so I submitted. Nightly while my daughter slept, he would open the door and I would just lie there until he finished and try not to look him in the eye, because I knew that when I did he'd have that look in his eye that told me he's won and that was the worst thing of all. Part of me died each night, because no matter how many promises I made, I always looked. And every night I hated myself, because while I cried myself to sleep and made sure I never woke Janey, I had to stop myself from thinking that it was better when I was completely alone. And every morning I hated myself more, because I realized that being alone would only make things worse, and yet every night I still had those thoughts. 

It's not a lack of thinking that makes people crazy, it's thinking in over abundance that drives you insane, and even though my traitorous pain whispered in the dark that alone was better, my battered heart told me it was not. After a while I stopped listening to myself entirely and I focused entirely on Janey. 

Janey. Janey. Janey. Everything was Janey, I had only thought my life revolved around her before, now Janey was what my sanity revolved around. And in the dark, after he had left for the night, I quietly began to lose my mind. What could I focus on while the center of my everything slept? If I slept then I could no longer focus, and if I no longer focused, I'd go crazy, and then who'd look after earth-angel? She had no one but me, and I had no one but her. It's true you know, everything comes to a circle eventually, I kept Janey safe, and whether or not she knew it, Janey was the only thing keeping me safe from myself. I know that if she hadn't been there I'd have killed myself. But then again, if she hadn't been there, I wouldn't have had to think about killing myself. Didn't I mention that it's too much thinking that drives a person insane?

It's was then, on the brink of warped insanity that I again made the assumption that it could never get any worse. It was then I was proven wrong again. So many times, perhaps now you're beginning to understand why I've done everything I've done. 

I kept count you know. Of every night, every humiliation, every waking hour of the night that I spent praying for dawn to come. I kept counting, so that way, if I ever did lose my mind, I'd know how long it took. 

97. It was on the ninety-eighth day that I destroyed Hell. I had nothing left to lose.

It was two days before the apocalypse of that hateful place that I was told each prisoner had a physical coming up, and to make sure the child understood so that there were no problems to arose. We were to be separated for the night for observation. Everything would go back to normal the next day, should there be no unexpected results. 

I hesitate to even write the next part down, but once again I need to remind myself that I swore to tell you everything. Because it's everything you need to know. But I know it's more than you want to know, and for that I'm sorry. I'm sorry about so many things. 

I can feel it now, rising up within me, that self-loathing that I've come to embrace, partly because it's no less than I deserve, and partly because it's the way everyone else in Hell feels about me, after all, how long can you believe one thing about yourself when the entirety of your world tells you something else? Not forever, and maybe that's a good thing, because once you learn how to _feel _things from someone else's point of view, you began to see, _really see_ how things are. And as painful as that lesson is, one day, it becomes invaluable.

Do you want to know that I was relieved when they told me of the separation? Of course you don't but you must know. You must know everything. I _was _relieved when I found out. As horrible as that is, it's true. I didn't want to be separated from Janey, but if I was I could at least have one night that went without the dreaded sounds of footsteps, the hiss of keys turning a lock, and the agonizing feel of hot tears tracing their way silently down my face. Just one night, and I'd have the strength to see my plans through, and then Janey and I, we'd be free. Free to go home and rebuild our dream. Free to rejoin our family who Janey already knew and loved. The family that I promised her. The family that I wish I hadn't.

It was late when the tests were finally over. I was lying in bed, attached to the monitors and for the first time in a long time, even without my daughter, I felt safe. 

Then the earth began to shake.

I knew, even as I ripped off the monitor attachments, I knew what had happened, what my mistake had been and I wept, even as I flew toward my daughter I wept, because everything I had tried for was lost. My naiveté had killed my earth-angel, even, if she was still breathing, Janey, the little girl who had finally found out that life wasn't always pain, and that sometimes monsters faded away with the night, was as good as dead. 

Willis K. Jensen saw to that.

He was re-dressing himself as I opened the door to Janey's observation room. 

And I knew, I'd never worry about Janey never being able to be a little girl again. 

She was already dead.

My beautiful little girl, my earth-angel, my daughter. Dead. Over and over again, all for naught. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Janey, who had dark brown curls, age-old innocent and fearful eyes, eyes that were the color of evergreen forest that had a lake of blue around the pupil, was dead. My little girl who curled into as she slept, whose hair was always fanned over my throat, and who called me Mommy, was dead. Lying there, naked, broken, and bleeding for all the world to see. A baby, hurt to many times, was dead. 

And some small part of my soul, the very best part I think, was glad. Not for my sake, never that. But see, I knew then, when I saw my daughter like that, what the world was, and that part of me was glad, that she'd never have to know it again. 

I don't know how or when exactly I moved but I was standing next to the bed, and quietly, calmly, and with all the love I had ever felt for her, I covered my daughter up, shut her eyes, kissed her forehead, and whispered "I love you."

People always say that in the aftermath of tragedy they don't know what they're doing. If everyone if like me, then they all lie. I knew exactly what I was doing, and to this day I regret none of it. I never will. 

He was still standing there when I turned.

He didn't stay standing for long. 

I released my fury on Hell. I thought I knew the pinnacle of my power, what I had known was nothing. For the first time in my life, I was the Goddess you all said I was. I don't remember everything, but I do know that I left no one standing. Mercy was a word I forgot when I saw my daughter dead, it's one that I will never make myself remember again. Mercy is for the deserving, among these there were none. 

As quickly and as violently as my vengeance had begun, it calmed. Slowly I turned and walked toward the bed on which my daughter lay, the only thing left untouched by my fury, gently cradled her in my arms and waited to die. 

I was to be disappointed. 

Others came, and I couldn't bring myself to care enough to listen to their screams of anguish, or terror. Nothing mattered. My violence had drained me, and so I waited for death.

That's when the others found me, still cradling my daughter's dead body. They knew then what I had done, and made the choice of what they had to do. I don't remember much except that they beat me off her body. As exhausted as I was, they had to beat my daughter out of my embrace, I would not make myself let go, I wanted to die you see, and I wanted to die holding my daughter. It seems I was to be denied even that. My last thought before I lost consciousness was this; _'I hope I never wake up.'_

I was once again denied.

When I woke it was here, in this particular Hell, where everything hurt my eyes, and nothing hurt so much as being unable to cry.

I have a new cell, on level five, which is reserved for the most dangerous of prisoners. Apparently they are determined not to make a second mistake with me, more the fools they are then. I know now hat things cannot get any worse, as long as you stop yourself from letting them. 

I have nothing left, I failed the school when the riot came, all because of my sense of mercy, I failed my students because I wasn't fast enough to save them, I failed my daughter with my naiveté, and I was failing myself because of my cowardice. No more. 

I know I've changed, I'm no longer what I used to consider a good person. Maybe I should be sorry for it, maybe I will feel sorry for that when I'm dead, but not now. I've to many other atonement's to feel sorry about. I know I'm taking the weak way out, and I know that I don't deserve to be forgiven for it, but still, I have to ask, if for nothing else than that I love you. All of you. But were I to face life I wouldn't be alive, and I wouldn't be the person any of you know. That person is already dead. All that's left for me to do is finish the job. I'm not afraid to die, especially not when the prospect of living terrifies me. I'm sorry for everything, but I can't take being an object anymore, an experiment that's hated and feared. I can't. 

I remember when I was a child, I would stay outside at night, safe in the dark arms in Africa, and catch fireflies in a jar. Lightning in a bottle I was told once. It fascinated me, but now I'm the one inside the bottle and for the first time I know how cruel an innocent child can be without knowing it. Yes the thought of caged fire is wonderful and lightning in a bottle is beautiful, but come morning, the lightning was always gone, and I never knew that it was me who had killed it.

I can feel my blood beginning to surge at the thought of calling my namesake for the last time. I'm about to die, and I've never been more at peace. Somehow, I know Janey is waiting, and I only have this one loose end to tie up.

I love you. All of you. That's the only thing that's never changed. I love you. Forgive me for it all.

Eternal,

****

Storm

Logan cradled Marie against his chest and for the first time that he could remember, he let tears fall. He wept with them all while Jean finished the letter they had found lying next to their comrade in the debris of what used to be one of the newest government sanctioned testing facilities for dangerous mutants. _'We were to late,'_ was the only thing he could think, _'We were too late.'_

It hurt. Not even Scott's arms tightening around her made the pain Jean was in stop. Her sister was dead. The niece she had never known was dead. Death was irrevocable. Death was forever. _'Dead. Dead. Dead, Dead. Just like Storm said.' _

Jubilee closed her eyes and rocked herself back on her heels. Why couldn't they have found her sooner? Why couldn't she have been smarter? Why hadn't she been stronger? _'I was part of the reason she gave up. She thought she had failed, she thought the school and the students were dead. Why couldn't I have done something different? Come back sooner, let her know the truth. I'm part of the reason she's dead.' _

Not even Logan could make Marie's mind stop screaming. The pain was too intense, Magneto yelling, _'You see! This is what comes from humans!'_ Cody saying that she was a mutant, '_It doesn't matter, the world's better now.'_ Logan growling at all of them to _'Shut the Hell up and leave my Marie alone, she's hurting, and that is not allowed.'_ And quietly, Marie could vaguely hear herself saying that this was _'another pain that is never ever going to ease, and more importantly I don't want it to.'_ Quietly she gave up thought for then, and surrendered to the whirlpool of pain, hoping she'd drown.

Scott could only distinguish one thought from anything else in his head. _'Leaders don't let family die. Leaders don't fail. I am not a leader. I'm a failure, and this is my fault.' _

And for once in his life, Xavier gave up logic and control. He didn't think. He simply cried, after all, his daughter was dead. 

Dead meant forever.

****

Seward's Stone Monument

At

Tiranogue:

"The angels are bending

above your white bed.

They weary of tending

The souls of the dead.

God smiles in Heaven, 

To see you so good

The old planets seven 

Grow gay with his mood.

I kiss you and kiss you

With arms 'round my own;

Ah, how shall I miss you

When dear, you have grown."

Author's note: This story was not supposed to be like this. Now that it is, I can't bring myself to change it. It's undoubtedly the best thing I have ver written, public of private, and writing it almost made me cry. I didn't know it would be like this, but somehow, this is how it should be. This story belongs to itself as much as to me. 


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